I am so pleased. My journal has now hit over 50,000 visitors and over 80,000 views.
Thanks to all of you for your interest. It means a great deal to me, and makes me feel I am by no means working in isolation!
Anthony
Incoming Gale
Hum of Bees
Barges on the River Lee
Victoria Embankment Gardens
Villa in Rio
Western Rock Nuthatch on Tholos in Delphi
Two dancers I adored when I was at the Royal Ballet School, back in the Sixties.
Horrid little bow though. I was once in the wings at Covent Garden, watching Nureyev in Swan Lake. At one point, he has to put down his cross-bow (in the wings) in order to catch the swan-queen before Von Rothbart mounts the ramp. I did not realise that he had put it behind my legs, and then the evil magician appears and Nureyev grabbed his cross-bow that had got caught behind my ankle. There was a crack. He cursed in Russian as I leapt to the side. Luckily for him (and for me) it hadn’t broken, but I retired from the wings and just heard the rest on the tannoy in the dressing-room.
Thinking back to Swan Lake…John Rider, a quite heavily-built dancer, was once playing Von Rothbart, and someone had forgotten to screw down the ramp to the floor. He rushed up it, struck an imposing pose, and the ramp tipped completely over. He told us, “I just breast-stroked off, my dears!”
x
(As Nero fiddled and the city burned) the empire was horribly smitten:
Eighty thousand Romans and their proxies died in Britain.
The island could have been lost for good. Moreover, all this ruin
Was brought upon us by a woman. This, once understood,
Caused no end of shame. Indeed, Heaven gave us indications
Of this calamity beforehand. For at night there was heard
To issue from our buildings of governance in every province
x
Foreign jargon mixed with laughter, and, from the theatres,
Cries and lamentations, though none had uttered words or cried;
Houses pitched into chaos were seen beneath the waters of the Thames,
While between Briton and Gaul the sea turned to blood at high tide.
Reason for war was found in the demand for the sums of cash
That Claudius had used to bribe their foremost chiefs; these sums,
Had to be paid back. Another reason was found in the fact
x
That Seneca, in expectation of receiving interest at a decent rate,
Had advanced the Britons 40 million sesterces (which they did not want).
He’d then abruptly called in this loan, and after that resorted
To indecent measures in exacting it. But the person who was chiefly
Responsible for rousing the people and persuading them
To fight for their country, the one who was thought worthy
To be their leader and who led the conduct of the war,
x
Was Boadicea, wife of the late Icenian king. Boadicea brought
Together a horde, one hundred and twenty thousand strong,
She rode at its head in a chariot, and brought her daughters along.
Fierce in the glance of her eye, tall and terrifying to approach,
Her voice was harsh and commanding. A mass of the tawniest hair
Fell to her hips. A golden necklet graced her neck; and she wore
A multicoloured doublet; over this, a mantle fastened with a brooch.
x
In this, her invariable attire, every fighter knew their chief.
Boadicea ascended a tribunal hill which had been constructed
So that all her troops could be surveyed. Now she grasped a spear
To aid her in inspiring her gathered forces and she spoke:
“Britons, you have learned by experience how different liberty
Can be from slavery. Hence, although, before, some among you may,
Through ignorance of what was best for you, have been deceived
x
By the perfidious pledges of Rome, yet now that you have tried
Both freedom and servitude, grant me how great a mistake you made
In choosing an imported dictatorship over your ancestral way of life,
For you have now come to realize how much better is poverty
With no master to wealth within the shameful bonds of slavery.
For what treatment is there of the most grievous sort that we
Have not suffered ever since these monsters came to Britain?
x
Have we not been robbed of most of our property,
And that the most precious, while for what is left we pay taxes,
Besides pasturing and tilling for them all remaining land?
Do we not pay a yearly tribute for our very bodies?
How much better it would be to have been sold to masters
Once and for all, than, while clinging to mere titles of nobility,
To have to ransom ourselves every year! How much better
x
To have been attacked and finished off than to go about
Weighed down by taxes! And yet, why do I mention death?
For even dying is not free of cost with them; no, you know
What duties we deposit for our dead. Death should be no tythe.
Death frees even those who toil in slavery to others;
Only in the case of these Romans do the very dead remain alive
For their profit. Why is it that, though none of us has coin
x
(How, indeed, could we, or where would we get it?) we are stripped
And despoiled like a brigand’s victims? And why should
These thieves be expected to display restraint as time goes on,
When they have behaved toward us in a foul way at the outset?
Most will show consideration even for the beasts they have netted.
But, to speak plainly, it is we who must own ourselves
Responsible for these ills, in that we allowed them to set foot
x
On our island when they sought to this time – instead
Of expelling them at once – as we did their notorious Julius Caesar –
In that we did not deal with them while they were still at sea,
As we dealt with Augustus and Caligula; nor did we make
Even their attempt to sail here a perilous thing. Now, as a consequence,
Although we inhabit such a large land, a continent encircled
By the sea, although we possess a veritable entirety of our own,
x
So separated by the waves from the rest of humanity
That we have been believed to dwell on a different earth
And under our own sky, and that some of the outside world,
Yes, even their wisest, have not hitherto known for a certainty
Even by what name we’re called, we have, notwithstanding this,
Been despised, been trampled underfoot by men who know nothing else
Than how to take over that which is not their own. However,
x
Though late in the day, and though we have not done so before,
Let us, my countrymen and kin – for I consider you all my kin,
Seeing as we inhabit a single place and are called by a common name —
Let us do our duty today while we still recall what freedom is,
That we may leave to our children, not the mere word
But also its reality. For, if we forget the happy state in which
We were born and bred, what, pray, will our offspring get instead?
x
Reared in wretched bondage? All this I say, not with the purpose
Of inspiring you with a hatred of our present state – that hatred
You already possess – nor with fear for the future – that fear
You already know – but of commending you because we now
Of our own accord choose the right and proper course of action.
Thank you. Thank you all for so readily coming together
With me and with each other. Have no fear whatever
x
Of the Romans; for neither in numbers nor in bravery
Are they superior to us! Protected with helmets, breastplates
And greaves, with palisades, walls and trenches,
They make sure they suffer no harm by the assault of their enemies.
And they are influenced by their fears when they adopt
This risk-insulated way of war in preference to our gut-responsive
Rough but ready action. Such a surplus of courage is ours,
x
Our tents are safer than their walls, our shields our sole defence,
Better than whole suits of mail! Victorious, we capture them,
When overpowered elude them; and if we choose to retreat,
We conceal ourselves in swamps and forests so inaccessible
That we can neither be tracked down nor taken. Not that they
Can give chase, weighted down by armour; nor can they flee;
Only hole-up in some barricaded fort, shutting themselves in a trap.
x
But these are not the only ways in which they are inferior.
There is also the fact that they cannot bear up under hunger,
Thirst, cold or heat. They require shade and covering, they require
Kneaded bread and wine and oil, and if any of these are in short supply
They just curl up and die. As for us, any grass or root serves as food,
The juice of any plant as oil, any water wine, any tree a home.
Furthermore, this region is familiar to us and is our ally, but to them
x
It proves unknown and deadly. As for our rivers, we swim them naked,
Whereas they only cross where they can wade or bring up boats.
Let us, therefore, go against them. Fortune favours the brave.
Show them that they are mere foxes trying to rule over wolves.”
When she had done speaking, she employed a sort of divination,
Letting a hare escape from the fold of her garb; and since it ran on
What they thought the auspicious route, the whole multitude
x
Erupted, and Boadicea, raising her hand toward heaven, said:
“I thank thee, Andraste, and I call upon thee here and now
As woman speaking to woman; for I rule over no burden-bearing
Egyptians as did Nitocris, nor over Syrian merchants as did Semiramis,
Much less over a race like the Romans themselves, effeminates
Who curtsey to Nero – callow as the shallowest of girls.
Witness his lyrical fiddling, and the enhancement of his curls.
x
Those over whom I rule are Britons, men who know not how
To till the soil like serfs or ply a meagre trade, but who are thoroughly versed
In warfare: men who share all things in their lives, even their wives,
So that the latter avail themselves of the same valour as their males.
As Queen of such men and women, I hereby supplicate and pray thee
For victory against an empire insolent, unjust, insatiable and impious!
Can we even call them men? Perverts who bathe in the warm,
x
Eat artificial dainties, drink unmixed wine, anoint themselves with myrrh,
Sleep on soft couches with boys – and boys well past their prime!
Slaves to this fiddler too and such a poor one at that. Wherefore may their
Mistress Domitia cum Nero reign no longer over me or you!
If the slut sings and holds sway over Romans, surely they deserve
To be her slaves, having for so long submitted to her song?
For us, dearest Andraste, be thou alone our victorious leader!”
x
x
The complete story can be found in Book 21 of The Runiad, which can be read on this Heyzine Link.
Scroll along the bar below the text to the contents page, for the page number where book 21 begins, then continue scrolling along until you get to that page.
I was very pleased to have this review published in the brilliant magazine Critique d’Art 64 – with a translation into French
64 | Printemps/été : CRITIQUE D’ART 64
Articles –https://journals.openedition.org/critiquedart/122227
The above is a link that will disappear in a few months time.
Anthony Howell
p. 39-47Traduction(s) :Aristote contre Ad Reinhardt
Références | Texte | Notes | Citation | Auteur
Meredith Monk Calling
Amsterdam : Hartwig Art Foundation ; Munich : Haus der Kunst ; Berlin : Hatje Kantz, 2024, 400p. ill. en noir et en coul. 29 x 23cm, eng
Biogr.
ISBN : 9783775754811. _ 58,00 €
Sous la dir. de Beatrix Ruf, Anna Schneider, Peter Sciscioli
Claire Bishop, Disordered Attention: How We Look at Art and Performance Today
London : Verso, 2024, 265p. ill. 22 x 15cm, eng
Index
ISBN : 9781804292884
Dance First Think Later, vol. 1 : le corps pensant entre danse et arts visuels = the thinking body between danse and visual arts
Dijon : Les presses du réel ; Genève : Arta Sperto, 2024, 271p. ill. en coul. 29 x 21cm, fre/eng
Biogr.
ISBN : 9782970184003. _ 30,00 €
Sous la dir. d’Olivier Kaeser
Ce numéro sera publié en ligne en texte intégral et en libre accès en juin 2026.
1Three books to review. The editors ask me “to give a critical reading of these books, which approach performance from an interventionist and political point of view while offering a reflection on the contemporary.” But where am I coming from? Well, I am a poet and a fox-hunting anarcho-communist who danced briefly with the Royal Ballet, who pioneered performance art in the seventies, and who teaches Argentine tango. I shall make no attempt to be objective in my reaction.
2Least interesting is the mega-monograph on Meredith Monk. It is basically a ‘coffee-table book’ – enormous, lavishly illustrated, with extra-large text (but to what purpose?). Monk embraces all the arts, combining singing and movement, installation, sculpture – you name it, she’s done it. But this is precisely my problem with her work, and, incidentally, that of Pina Bausch and Twyla Tharp. They sample. They pick up and steal snippets of concepts that were more deeply explored by the performance artists of their time.
3In London, for many years, we have tended to distinguish between performing arts and performance art. Performing arts is an all-embracing definition. So dance, opera, theatre, and all amalgamations of these, are included. Performance art, on the other hand, is a specific term referring to ‘actions’. These have largely (but not exclusively) derived from concepts developed in visual art. They include the live work of the surrealists and the dadaists between the wars; the work of actionist artists creating events in Austria then, Germany from the sixties onwards; the ‘happenings’ that visual artists performed in the 60s and 70s, Shamanistic art, spectacles that include bodily interventions such as cutting, bondage and cupping, and Stelarc flying over Amsterdam suspended from a crane on hooks inserted through his skin. Sometimes performance art is referred to as Live Art – I find this term confusing.
4Performance art is not dance. Dance is an illustrative medium. Merce Cunningham may have gone some way towards its liberation from music by dancing to the random noise generated by John Cage. But there was still the notion of accompaniment. Aristotle considered that “all arts aspire towards the condition of theatre” (where they served the common purpose of illustrating their subject). Ad Reinhardt maintained “that all the arts seek emancipation from each other”. Performance art is associated with the latter. It liberates action from illustrating music (dance) or accompanying a narrative (theatre). Action becomes an art in its own right. None of these books so much as mentions this issue. Because they confuse dance with action and never seriously address performance art, they all lean towards the Aristotelian notion – and naturally attempt to approach performance “from an interventionist and political point of view” – because that was the whole point of the drama and its catharsis. There was always a social subject.
5Dance First Think Later is largely a visual experience and some of its spreads I enjoyed, particularly those of Xavier Le Roy. I was pleased to see that it included at least a quote from Simone Forti, admittedly one related to dance. But Forti has created work that is genuine performance art – I recall being impressed by her action studies of animal movements back in the seventies. Nevertheless, this tome is not up my street. It is a book on contemporary dance that seeks to amalgamate dance with the ambience of international art exhibitions. This echoes my viewpoint that we’re still being led towards the trend to merge everything into a mish-mash – which must lead to a diversion from art itself (which is always concerned with its constraints – even when advertising its freedoms). Let me be even more subjective in my reaction: I have a problem with much that goes under the label of “contemporary dance”. While I enjoyed seeing Cage and Cunningham perform at the Fondation Maeght in Saint-Paul-de-Vence in the sixties, amid sculptures by Alberto Giacometti, what they did was actually inimitable. Chance action’s interplay with chance sound was their particular contribution to art philosophy. What we see today is dull imitation. Cage simply gives dancers the excuse not to listen to the music – so again, there is no constraint.
6At least, when I dance the tango, I must dance to the music – whether my movement be syncopated or not. But so much contemporary dance consists of endless undisciplined gestures, vapid technique, no need to dance to any beat. In her heyday, Martha Graham was involved in a far more considered discipline of movement, while the more or less forgotten Alwin Nikolais created fantastic dehumanisations of movement through costume innovations connected to kites.
7Finally, to Disordered Attention, the most serious read of the three. Claire Bishop begins by identifying Sun and Sea – the installation by Vaiva Grainytė and Lina Lapelytė at the Venice Biennale in 2019 as a key work of its time1, and it does sound wonderful: a sandy beach to look down on, where opera singers in swimsuits, children, even a dog, created a locale perfect for sun-bathing and the singers sporadically sang their complaints about needing more sunscreen or the sea filling with algae, mixing the personal with the environmental. Bishop continues by describing the nature of attention in our time – mobiles and selfies, the Internet and social media, and the tendency to skim and to sample the text, while we worry about the rise of ADHD (Attention Deficient Hyperactivity Disorder). Rather than bemoan these tendencies, she embraces them, demanding new methods of teaching and a fluid acceptance of attention modes. She also offers a brief history of attention which is intriguing to read. She then presents four categories to be considered in contemporary art and performance: research-based art, the hybrid nature of spectatorship, interventions and déjà vu – the nostalgia for modernist architecture.
8These categories do give an overview of the Zeitgeist prevailing today. She allows William James to define attention: “Everyone knows what attention is. It is taking possession by the mind, in clear and vivid form, of one out of what seem several simultaneously possible objects or trains of thought.”2 She calls this normative attention, and she points out how this clashes with “a contemporary culture of digital activity.” People chattered quite happily during 17th century performances and made assignations in each other’s boxes. Normative attention is largely a 20th-century notion. I have a Japanese woodprint of a Noh play – where the goings-on in the pit (snack-selling and flirtation) are of more interest than the stilted action onstage.
9The chapter on hybridisation discusses how “dance” has intruded on galleries once devoted to purely visual art. It is dance now merged with screenings, sometimes nostalgically projected through 16mm or some more antiquated technology. But as previously stated, all this aspiration towards the merger of forms leads to an overriding focus on subject-matter and a distraction from genuine sensation, where art is at is best – as attested by Anthony McCall’s Solid Light installations, shown recently at the Tate Modern3.
10Intervention is also problematic and Bishop fails to mention its precedents in the 20th century, as far as I could tell (there is no index). I would have mentioned the anti-oil demonstrations by Hayley Newman and others at the Tate (2010-2016). My own performance of a solo Table Move at the same gallery was attacked by a schizophrenic acquaintance back in the early 80s. This traumatised me, and I made no performances for several years after that. So I am not keen on interventions – again, most interventions assume an “accepted” political view.
11By the time I opened the final chapter on art based on a nostalgia for the architectural integrity of modernism my own eyes were beginning to glaze over, as Bishop says hers do when confronted by a Breuer chair, Oscar Niemeyer curves and deserted modernist buildings. What is it, then, that irritates me about this book, which does at least provide us with an authentic survey?
12Two things, first, the fairly skimpy acknowledgement of what had been achieved in the latter half of the 20th century. There is one mention of Robert Wilson, one of the writing on Performance Art: From Futurism to the Present by RosaLee Goldberg (1999). There is no understanding of what defined performance art in the first place, and when Bishop describes a street performance such as Kevin Beasley’s The Sound of Morning (2021), there is no reference to precedents in the street art of the 70s. There is a crisis of multitude. Blame it on creative writing classes perhaps, or the proliferation of arts PhDs. To make a survey of the contemporary scene is far more time-consuming than it would have been in my day.
13The second problem for me is the assumption of the author that we still admire the US and its artists and that most of us identify with the contemporary “democratic” values we associate with the Americans. I sometimes felt while reading this book that the artists chosen were useful as accompanists to Bishop’s political view: Pussy Riot good, Putin bad and so on, or whatever fits in comfortably with the current idées reçues. The soi-disant “Left” is no longer in any way left. It is instead a middle-class way of espousing “worthy” causes. The amalgamizing, algorithmic art of today is obliged to de-emphasise constraint and adopt such distractions. The language of this book is permeated with the irritating vocabulary of this trend – I am averse to the art generated by identity politics. There are artists I admire who happen to be black, green, queer, criminal, female and bestial –but – each of them defies categorisation of this nature.
1 Sun & Sea (Marina) represented Lithuania at the 58th Venice Biennale. An opera-performance by
Rugilė Barzdžiukaitė, Vaiva Grainytė and Lina Lapelytė. Curator: Lucia Pietroiusti.
2 James, Williams. The Principles of Psychology (1890), vol. 1, Cambridge (MA): Harvard University Press, 1983, p. 381-382 quoted in: Bishop, Claire. Disordered Attention: How we look at art and performance today, London:Verso, 2024, p. 8
3 Anthony McCall: Solid Light (27 June 2024–27 April 2025), Tate Modern, LondonHaut de page
Anthony Howell, « Aristotle Versus Ad Reinhardt », Critique d’art, 64 | 2025, 39-47.
Anthony Howell, « Aristotle Versus Ad Reinhardt », Critique d’art [En ligne], 64 | Printemps/été, mis en ligne le 16 juin 2026, consulté le 11 juillet 2025. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/critiquedart/122227 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/147klHaut de page
Anthony Howell is an English poet, novelist and performance artist. He founded performance company The Theatre of Mistakes in 1974. This company made notable appearances at The Cambridge Poetry Festival (1975), at the Serpentine Gallery, and at the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam (1976), at the Hayward Gallery, at the Biennale de Paris, and at FIAC in the Grand Palais (1977). His literary output includes poems and novels. He has also written a book on performance with Fiona Templeton, Elements of Performance Art (Ting Books, 1977). Howell was Senior Lecturer in Time Based Studies at the Faculty of Art, Design and Technology, University of Wales Institute, Cardiff, and the editor of Grey Suit: Video for Art & Literature (1993-1995). See https://anthonyhowelljournal.com/Haut de page
Well, as for Srebenica, that Ursula von der Liar is begging us to remember, I don’t buy it. Let’s remember a few other events. The bombing of the Serbian broadcasting house, exterminating all Serb journalists. The expected prisoner exchange, when thousands of Serbian soldiers were supposed to be returned, but who never appeared. The ethnic cleansing of Serbs from contested areas of Yugoslavia, when children had to drive the trucks because there were no men. And remember that Srebenica was entirely reported by pro-Western journalists, and that Yugoslavia had the largest standing army in Europe (after the fall of the Soviet Union) and that Yugoslavia was a wonderfully successful communist country, and that these facts made it the target of the CIA and MI6. This was a colour revolution everyone bought into, long before we understood the role of the deep state in global affairs. The whole period should be re-examined, in the light of our contemporary consciousness of what happened to Libya, what happened to Iraq, what has just happened to Syria. Back then we were all far more naive and loved blowing our little whistles. And right now poor old Serbia is going through it again. Let’s explore the cracks in the narrative.
Intermezzo
TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
Nini Patte-en-l’Air (Casino de Paris’)
x
The gold Casino’s Spring parterre
Flowers with the Spring, this golden week;
Glady, Toloche, Valtesse, are there;
But all eyes turn as one to seek
The drawers of Nini Patte-en-l’air.
*
Surprising, sunset-coloured lace,
In billowy clouds of gold and red,
They whirl and flash before one’s face;
The little heel above her head
Points an ironical grimace.
*
And mark the experimental eyes,
The naughty eloquence of feet,
The appeal of subtly quivering thighs,
The insinuations indiscreet
Of pirouetting draperies.
*
What exquisite indecency,
Select, supreme, severe, an art!
The art of knowing how to be
Part lewd, aesthetical in part,
And fin-de-siecle essentially.
*
The Maenad of the Decadence,
Collectedly extravagant,
Her learned fury wakes the sense
That, fainting, needs for excitant
This science of concupiscence.
*
ARTHUR SYMONS (Paris, May 14, 1892)
Symons has left this out of his Collected Poems. A shame as it is one of his best. Was it too risque?
x
Bayesian, the name of that yacht. Elementary, my dear Wat!
Scilla and Charybdis frequent the strait at Messina.
Water-spouts round Sicily are nothing new, it seems to me.
Another old dilemma has still to be resolved in the wake
Of any revolt – as is suggested by Percy Bysshe Shelley’s
Returning to the idiom in his essay A Defence of Poetry –
Put with some pith, and still as true as it was in 1820:
x
“The rich have become richer, and the poor have become
Poorer; and the vessel of the state is driven between
The Scylla and Charybdis of despotism and anarchy.”
Analysis in Bayesian ways factors in advertisement,
Codifies prior knowledge in the form of a predicted
Distribution – so you know what profit you might make
Given you promote the item, even if it proves a fake.
x
And yet the best of plans may go awry and splendid lies
Go bottom up, just as extravagent yachts may capsize.
MK Ultra’s agents, unaware of their acts, morph into maniacs.
When entities arrive at their extreme, they turn into
Their opposite. Freud observed this in the way a dream
May substitute wet for hot, sour for the forbidden sweet
We each of us long to consume. Entanglement of true crime
x
And mythology? The yacht with the tallest mast in the world
Appears to have been sucked under by a water spout.
I turn in early, much new stuff to dream about.
The dream I have however, delves with some nostalgia
Into my lecturer days to earn my bread. And Jason arrives for a tutorial.
Since leaving art-school he has been afflicted by a
Wasting disease. Now he exists within a glass case
x
With circular holes to respire. His brain’s enclosed in chicken-wire;
His one remaining arm extending out of the case
So that his hand can caress the stalk of a dandelion.
Jason waxes lyrical about its ephemeral sphere
That can be dispersed as easily as a cloud into the air
And I say, from now on you can do anything, Jason,
Argue for the King’s assassination, shit on the floor
x
(I’m actually not so sure Jason does shitting any more).
No one is going to tell you what you are doing is crap,
They will do nothing but praise you. Not to do so would be
Anti-freakist. Next there is this girl who wants to perform
With a sheep, but the sheep’s no pet, and keeps wandering
Off the set. Clearly she was looking for a lamb. I get friendly
With the sheep which is dirty, but so what? Didn’t I
x
Grow up on a farm? The sheep is content to be my pillow
As I dream about going back into performance for a spell,
Recalling all my actions with a pig. A Tamworth sow.
Am I dreaming about a sheep because wolves are supposed to make
An appearance again in this book? I dreamt I had mislaid
My old jacket after a fatal row with my old friend.
It’s all very well remembering them, but dreams are supposed
x
To happen in one’s sleep. Should you recall
Such a detail, that detail from a dream can depress you
By leaving its dark trace through the hours of your day.
Better put all recollection away. But that gets you stuck on
Darktrace, cybersecurity company founded by the Brit tycoon
Mike Lynch – one of the six missing in the shipwreck
That occurred off Porticello, round the head from Palermo –
x
Darktrace has consolidated relations with the deep state rabbis
Of Mossad. And Darktrace is known to secret services,
Including Italian ones, but has close relationships in particular
With Tel Aviv who, according to a source interviewed
By Nova Agency, used Darktrace’s systems to locate
Leaders of Hamas. Lynch, also known as the
“British Bill Gates”, played a role in the birth of Darktrace.
x
From The Runiad, Book 12. The completed poem may by read for free on this Heyzine link.
x
Book 12 can be found on page 272, so move along the bar below the text to get to any specific page.
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